Chapter 14
The world spun in lazy circles, punctuated by a high-pitched scream that Izzy slowly realized was coming from inside her own ears.
Weight pressed down on her—Cory's body still shielding her from debris that pinged off the asphalt like deadly hail.
Heat washed over them in waves, and she couldn't breathe. His weight, the shock, the acrid smoke—
Not again.
For a heartbeat she wasn't in Hope Landing anymore. She was back in Kandahar, ears ringing from the IED that had taken out their lead vehicle. Same acrid smell searing her lungs. Same crushing weight of a teammate shielding her. Same debris raining down like—
No. Stay here. Stay present.
She forced her eyes open, focused on the details. Ice beneath her. Cory's Hope Landing PD uniform. Her SUV burning, not a Humvee. Hope Landing, not Afghanistan.
Through the ringing, she heard him speaking, felt his hands checking her arms, her head. "Are you hurt? Izzy, talk to me."
She couldn't answer. Could only stare at the inferno that used to be her pristine SUV. The black paint she'd washed just yesterday. The leather seats she'd meticulously cleaned of Chantal's goldfish cracker crumbs. Gone. Just... gone.
The full horror crashed over her like a physical blow. "That was meant for me."
Cory's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. His hands continued their professional inventory—checking for blood, for breaks, for damage she was too numb to feel.
Then another thought, this one pure ice through her veins.
"CHANTAL."
The scream ripped from her throat as she shoved at Cory's chest, suddenly all motion and maternal terror. He rolled aside and she scrambled to her feet, legs shaky but functional.
"Give me your keys." She thrust out her hand, surprised it wasn't shaking. Yet.
Around them, chaos erupted. Shouts and running feet. The fire truck's engine roaring to life a hundred yards away. But all Izzy could see was her daughter's face. Someone had tried to kill her. What if they'd gone after—
"Izzy, we need to preserve the scene—" Cory started.
She shoved him. Hard. "Your keys. Now."
Something in her voice—the operative, the soldier, the mother—reached him. She saw the moment he recognized she'd go through him if necessary. That she'd take his keys from his unconscious body if that's what it took.
"I'll drive." He waved toward his SUV, already shouting orders to the responders running over from the Cessna site. "We're good. Get this fire out. Hellman, keep a patrol on this site all night. Nobody but first responders touches anything."
They ran for his vehicle, Izzy's boots slipping on ice she normally would have navigated without thought. He had the engine running before her door closed, lights and sirens screaming to life as they tore out of the lot.
Code 3 through Hope Landing's empty streets. Cory drove fast but controlled, anticipating ice patches, taking corners at the exact maximum speed physics would allow. Any other time she might have appreciated his skill. Now she just frantically stabbed at her mother's contact.
Straight to voicemail.
Again. Nothing.
Her hands started shaking for real now, making it hard to hit the right buttons. "She always answers. Always."
Please, please, please. The prayer felt rusty, but she sent it up anyway. Not them. Please, Lord, not them.
Cory took a corner sharp enough to press her against the door, but she barely noticed. Just kept calling, kept getting that cheerful voicemail message in her mother's accented English.
The apartment building appeared ahead, looking exactly as it always did. No smoke. No fire. No emergency vehicles. Either very good or very bad.
Cory barely got the vehicle in park before she was out, sprinting for the entrance.
"Let me clear it first—" His voice behind her, concern mixed with something else.
She blew past him. No time for SWAT protocols or proper clearing procedures. Her baby was in there.
Fumbling with keys, hands trembling so badly it took four tries to get the right one in the lock. The door swung open to darkness and silence.
Her mother's phone sat on the hall table, dark screen mocking her. Living room empty. Kitchen empty. Izzy's heart hammered against her ribs as she raced down the hallway.
Luz's door, cracked open. Chantal's room beside it.
There.
Two forms in Luz's bed. Her mother curled protectively around Chantal, both breathing steadily in the darkness.
Safe. Whole. Alive.
Izzy's knees went liquid. She made it back to the living room couch before they gave out entirely, sinking into the cushions as the adrenaline crash hit like a freight train. Her whole body shook now—hands, shoulders, even her teeth chattering.
Behind her, Cory moved through the space, service weapon drawn but pointed down.
He checked windows, tested locks, cleared corners like he'd been born to it.
Some distant part of her brain noted his competence, filed it away with all the other surprising things she'd learned about Chief Cory Fraser tonight.
"All clear. Exterior too," he said quietly, holstering his weapon.
"?Mija? ?Qué pasa?"
Her mother stood in the hallway, worn flannel robe wrapped tight, salt-and-pepper hair mussed from sleep. But her eyes were sharp, taking in Cory's presence, the weapon he'd just put away, Izzy's shaking hands.
"Mamá." Izzy tried for casual and failed spectacularly.
Luz crossed to her in a couple quick steps, settling beside her on the couch and gathering her close. She smelled like night cream and the faint hint of her evening yerba buena tea. Safe smells. Home smells.
"What happened?" Softer now, but with steel underneath. The voice that had gotten Izzy through skinned knees and broken hearts and deployment notifications.
"There was an incident at the airport..." Izzy started carefully. "My SUV had some... issues."
Her mother's eyes narrowed. "Isabella Marie Reyes. The truth. Now."
The full name treatment. No escaping that.
"Someone put a bomb in my car." The words came out in a rush, like ripping off a bandage. "Cory saved me. We're fine. Everyone's fine. But—"
"A bomb." Luz's voice had gone dangerously quiet. She turned to Cory. "Explain. Everything."
He walked through it quickly. No sugar-coating. No minimizing. Izzy watched her mother's face cycle through concern to fury to fear and back again.
"My phone—ay, I forgot to charge it. With all the stress about Andrew..." Tears gathered in Luz's eyes. "I didn't mean to worry you, mija."
"It's okay, Mamá." Izzy squeezed her hand. "But you and Chantal need to leave. As soon as possible."
"She's right," Cory added quietly. "The sooner, the better."
"If we go, Isabella comes too."
"I can't."
"This isn't negotiable."
"Mamá, I'm trained for this. You're not."
They slipped into rapid Spanish, arguing in the way only mothers and daughters could—love wrapped in fear wrapped in stubbornness. Luz's hands gesturing sharply, Izzy's voice growing harder with each exchange.
Finally, the killing blow: "I'm the target. If I go with you—"
Luz's hands stilled. The eternal equation every military mother knew: protect the child or trust the woman you'd raised her to become.
She rose with wounded dignity, fixing Cory with a stare that could melt steel. "You watch over her, ?entiendes?"
Not a request. A mother's command, backed by the authority of every mother who'd ever sent a child to war.
"Yes, ma'am." Cory's response was immediate, solemn.
"Con su vida." With your life.
"Understood."
Luz held his gaze a moment longer, reading something there that seemed to satisfy her. She turned back to Izzy, cupping her face with gentle hands, then headed for the hallway, muttering prayers under her breath.
Alone with Cory in her living room, Izzy suddenly felt exposed. Vulnerable. She hated it.
He already had his phone out. "I have federal connections. Witness protection can have them relocated within—"
Her hand covered his screen. "So do I."
He looked up, eyebrow raised.
"My connections can't be traced by any agency." Let him make of that what he would. Knight Tactical's reach was long and quiet.
Understanding dawned in his eyes. Maybe even a hint of admiration. "Fair point."
"So it's handled." Exhaustion crept into her voice. When had she gotten so tired?
"What about you?"
She waved him off. "I've got this."
"No." The word was flat, final. Chief Fraser at his most immovable.
"I don't need—"
"You need backup. Period."
"I'm not calling my team back from Alaska."
"I'm not talking about your team." He leaned forward, those ice-blue eyes intense. "I'm talking about me."
The words hung between them, unexpected and somehow inevitable.
"I'm not losing an innocent person on my watch."
Despite everything—the explosion, the terror, the exhaustion—she laughed. "You saying I'm innocent?"
"Of this sabotage." The correction came quick, but his eyes said more.
She recognized the trap even as she tested it. "You're bluffing."
He gestured toward the window. She looked, already knowing what she'd see. Red and blue lights painted the parking lot. Two patrol cars sat silent, light bars spinning lazy warnings.
"No. Way." She turned back to him. "I'm not headlining a parade."
His shrug was infuriatingly casual. "Your choice. It's me or them."
Boxed in. Outmaneuvered by a small-town police chief who probably played chess in his spare time.
"This is coercion."
"This is protection."
They stared at each other, neither backing down. But she could see he'd already won. Those patrol cars weren't going anywhere. Neither was he.
"Fine." The word tasted like defeat.
"Great." He rose, all business now. "You got extra blankets?"
"What?"
"I'm staying the night."
"That's not—"
"Non-negotiable."
Too tired to fight anymore. Too tired to do anything but accept the inevitable. "Once my mom and Chantal are out, I'll stay at Knight Tactical."
"Smart. Most secure location for miles."
"It's a fortress. Makes Fort Knox look like a convenience store." She managed a ghost of pride. "We've got redundant systems for our redundant systems."
"Good thing it's big." He checked his phone, probably already planning security rotations or whatever it was by-the-book cops did. "Because I'll be staying there too."
The words landed like a second bomb, leaving her staring at his matter-of-fact certainty.
Living at Knight Tactical. With Cory Fraser.
What could possibly go wrong?